1953 

Cm 


UC-NHL 


13   610 


sin 


GIFT  OF 
Class   of  1887 


THAXr^R. 


THE  SINGER  OF  THE  SEA 


INA  D.    COOLBRITH 


PUBLISHED   BY 

THE  CENTURY  CLUB  OF  CALIFORNIA 
DECEMBER,  1894 


Copyrighted  1894,  by  the  Century  Club  of  California 


THE  SINGER  OF  THE  SEA. 


IN  MEMORY  OF  CELIA  THAXTER. 


There  is  shadow  on  the  sea ! 
And  a  murmur,  and  a  moan, 
In  its  muffled  monotone, 
Like  a  solemn  threnody ; 
And  the  sea-gulls,  on  their  white 
Pinions,  moving  to  and  fro, 


Are  like  phantoms,  in  their  flight; 
As  they  sweep  from  off  the  gray, 
Misty  headlands,  far  away, 
And  about  the  Beacon  Light, 
Wheel  in  circles,  low  and  slow, 
Wheel  and  circle,  peer  and  cry, 
As  though  seeking,  restlessly, 
Something  vanished  from  their  sight. 
As  though  listening  for  the  clear 
Tones  they  never  more  may  hear,— 
Music,  missing  from  the  day, 
Music,   missing  from  the  night, — 
Through  the  years,  that  wax  and  wane, 
That  may  never  sound  again. 


She,  who  ever  loved  the  sea, 
Loved  and  voiced  its  minstrelsy, — 
Sang  its  white-caps,  tossing  free, 
Sang  the  ceaseless  breaker-shocks, 
Dashing,  crashing,  on  the  rocks, 
Sang  its  moon-drawn  tides,  its  speech, 
Silver-soft,  upon  the  beach, 
Walks  the  margin's  golden  floor, — 
Floats  upon  its  breast  no  more. 


Nay!  how  know  we  this  to  be? 
That  the  forms  we  may  not  see, 
Passed  from  mortal  touch  and  ken, 


Never  come  to  earth  again? 

When  this  brittle  house  of  clay 

From  the  spirit  breaks  away, 

Does  the  mind  forego  its  will? 

Is  the  voice's  music  still? 

Do  the  hands  forget  their  skill? 

From  that  harp — great  Homer's  heart, — 

Do  no  mighty  numbers  come? 

Lost,  divinest  Raphael's  art, 

And  the  lips  of  Shakespeare  dumb? 

All  the  years  of  joy  and  pain 

That  are  lived,  but  lived  in  vain; 

Memory's  graven  page  a  blot, 

Unrecorded  and  forgot ! 


Oh,  believe,  believe  it  not ! 

Man  is  God' s  incarnate  thought : 

Life,  with  all  the  gifts  He  gave, 

All  the  wondrous  powers  He  wrought, 

Finds  not  ending  at  the  grave. 

Part,  himself,  of  Deity, 

Man,  the  spirit,  cannot  die. 

"In  my  Father's  house  there  are 

Many  mansions"     Did  Christ  say 

Whether  near,  or  whether  far? 

It  may  be  beside  us  still 

Bide  these  forms  invisible ; 

Or,  if  passed  to  realms  away, 

Beyond  sight's  remotest  star, 


Does  that  bind  the  soul  to  stay, — 
Never,  never,  to  retrace 
The  golden  passage-ways  of  space? — 
As  a  parted  child  might  yearn 
For  the  mother  arms,  and  turn, 
Fain  to  look  on  Earth's  dear  face. 
'Twixt  the  heart  that  loves  and  her 
Space  could  place  no  barrier : 
Thought,  that  swifter  is  than  light, 
Leaps  a  universe  in  flight. 

So  I  love  to  think,  indeed, 
That  this  singing  spirit,  freed 
From  her  lesser,  lower  height — 


Soaring  to  the  Infinite, — 
Turns  with  loving  eyes,  and  smile, 
Still  unto  her  garden-isle ; 
Sees  the  tower's  beacon-light, 
Shining  safely  through  the  night ; 
Sees  the  white  surf  as  it  rolls 
Round  her  treasured  Isles  of  Shoals,  - 
Looking  from  that  vaster  sea, 
Which  we  name  Eternity. 


C.  A.  Murdock  &  Co.,  Printers 


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